


Picard in Overalls by Jeanita

by internetname



Series: TrekSmut Illustrated Moments [7]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3137000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picard in Overalls by Jeanita

**Author's Note:**

> I and some other P/Q writers enjoy making what we call TrekSmut Illustrated Moments. Costumes are emphasized, and the Picard and Q who appear in the stories are usually not Captain Picard and Q of the Continuum. (We also call these "And Then They Fuck" stories. They're short and fun and give them a try!
> 
> This one is actually authored by Jeanita. She let me put it up on my old site, so I'm hoping it's OK to put it up here. (Jeanita, if you see this, write me! Love to hear from you.)

Well, the thing is this: I got this new computer but I'm not very adept with it. So I got Robin to post two costume vignettes because she was the one who inspired me to write them. It was the zoot suit story called Night Clubbing. It was tres hot, and I love costumes, so guess what? Now there are three more of them. There are two Robin posted (thanks Robin!) called (with great originality) Picard in Cutoffs, and Picard in a Monk's costume, and now there's this one. I shamefully confess that I had to back to my old computer to post it. I can't help it. I haven't had time to RTFM, and if I call the help desk one more they're gonna come to my house and shoot me. So here it is. I call it (with even more originality): 

Picard in Overalls

by  
Jeanita

 

The years had not been kind to the man who stood before him, and if Quinlan were a better person he would not be gloating. 'Look at him,' Quin thought objectively. 'Slaved like a dog his whole life and what does he have to show for it?' 

Quinlan gave the man in front of him no choice but to wait as he looked him over. He'd known what he would see as soon his secretary announced the man's name: another dustbowl farmer, come to plead for the life of his raggedy homestead. 

He took in the carefully mended brogans, the faded overalls and the battered straw hat clutched respectfully between the roughened palms. He knew without looking that the cuffs on the man's one good white shirt had been turned when they wore out, and the patches on the elbows had been carefully selected from the least yellow bedsheet. 

"Such a waste," he murmured. 

He hadn't meant to speak out loud. Hadn't realized he'd done so until he saw the slight flush creep up the high cheekbones. Not that it mattered. John Picard was nothing to Quin -- just another farmer about to go belly-up. 

So why was Quin's mouth so dry? 

He covered for his sudden nervousness by venting some of his disdain and anger for farmers in general. "No." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

That voice, after all these years, and that accent. Johnny's father had French blood. His mamma was from England. She'd been the most exotic thing Smiling Gap had ever seen, but she was not cut out to be a farmer's wife. She'd borne Morris Picard three children, but when the youngest died from scarlet fever one winter, she packed up and went back home. Johnny and his older brother Robbie had done everything they could to help their bitter, grieving old man. Johnnie had even hired out as a tutor. Charitably, Quin's mother hired him to help Quin's little sister Anna with her spelling. The boy was surprisingly good at it, and Johnny's mellifluous accent had been part of Quin's household life for years. So had Johnny's friendship, then his love. When Quin came back from college, however, he understood a lot more about the differences between rich and poor. 

"Come work for me, Johnny." Quin was going places, and he wanted to pull Johnny up with him. He'd sneaked away from plans for his own wedding to try, yet again, to talk Johnny into leaving his father's farm. "You're too smart to waste your life walking behind a plow." 

Johnny's lips tightened stubbornly, as Quin had suspected they would. "I promised my father." 

"Is that all you have to say? Your old man doesn't even like you. You know what he said when I seen him at the barber's the other day?" 

"When you _saw_ him at the barber's. No, what did he say?" 

Quin took a deep breath. There were family politics going on here that he didn't understand. Still, he disliked Morris enough that he didn't mind telling tales on him. "He said you was a disappointment and always would be." 

He dropped the gossip triumphantly, sure that it would have the desired effect, but once again Johnny surprised him. 

The young man's shoulders sagged, and he looked unutterably sad for a moment. But when he spoke again, even though his voice was thick with tears, it was the same old story as before. 

"Quin." He hesitated then used the secret nickname they'd adopted years ago. "Q. You don't know how much I want to go with you, but imagine how much more disappointed he'd be if I left the farm after giving him my promise." 

"Fine. Be that way!" Q was spoiled. He didn't like to be thwarted. Especially not by nasty old Morris's manipulation. His imagination had painted a glowing scenario: Johnny would say yes to his plan. Quin would buy Johnny new suits. Present him as his secretary, teach him about banking. Give him a raise. They could work together, even eat together, finally. 

"You never once sat with me at the supper table. Not once." He wasn't necessarily accusing Johnny, but it always grieved him that they'd been denied the simple pleasure of dining together. 

"You mother didn't have to feed me at all." Johnny replied mildly. He'd been hired help, and he'd known his place. Newly middle class, Quin's mother would have been scandalized to breach the division she worked so hard to maintain. She would feed Johnny, of course, but in the kitchen; not at the dining table with family and friends. 

"Don't you see what I want for us?" Quin's voice, like his heart, was near to breaking. 

"My friend." They were all alone in the woods, so Johnny was able to take his hand. "What you want for me--for us--is impossible. I want it as much as you do, but I can't." 

"Please." Quin whispered. 

Johnny let go of Quin's hand and stepped away. "I won't be back next week." When Quin started to object, Johnny was quick to remind him, "You'll be on your honeymoon, remember?" 

Now Quin's tears fell. They'd met in the woods for years, teasing, wrestling, kissing, learning on each others' bodies. Sharing love, sex, passion -- it should have gone on forever. "You'll never come back again, will you?" 

Johnny didn't answer directly. "You're going to be late for your engagement party." 

"I hate you!" Quin whispered, and didn't care that Johnny flinched. 

One night on his honeymoon, Quin woke up sobbing. His wife, too naive to suspect otherwise, was flattered when he told her he loved her so much that he couldn't contain himself. 

Years passed. He spoke to Johnny occasionally, but they remained distant. He was married to a banker's daughter. How could he stay best friends with a farmer? 

When it was time to hire a tutor for his young daughters, Q sent for a governess from the East. Getting his shoes shined in the barber shop a few years ago, he'd heard that Robbie Picard was leaving for California with his wife and son. Too hard to make a living in Smiling Gap. Q had known then that this day would come. He told himself it didn't really matter. 

He looked over the scarecrow who stood before him and said what he had to say. 

"Frankly, Mr. Picard, there's nothing we can do for each other. I don't need another hardscrabble farm and you don't need me to forclose on you, but there's nothing I can do." 

The man drew himself up angrily. He didn't act much like a farmer. Didn't speak like one. Never had. "You could show some compassion, damnit! I know you used to have some once." 

"I don't think I like your tone." Quin had been threatened by angry farmers before. It didn't impress him. 

"This is *me* you're talking to, Q." The name from his past stung Quin into memories he didn't want to recall. 

"You? And what exactly are you?" Q stood up, his anger moving him swiftly around the desk. He was a tall man, and imposingly broad, and he turned them both with the force of his momentum so that they faced his big mirror. "Look, Johnny. What do you see?" 

Johnny obediently stared, but Quin found he had trouble following the command he'd just given. He could face his own contemptuous expression. He could even justify it. His own image was that of a suited gentlemen. In the prime of his life, he wore his prosperity with easy confidence. It was obvious that he was a man of substance--someone to be reckoned with. 

And standing next to him, what? They could both see it clearly. A man for whom little had gone right. A farmer in a trap. A nothing. A nobody. Until you looked into his eyes. 

Usually Quin could maintain his self-control, but now anger made him speak recklessly. "Twenty years ago I begged you to come with me and you said no," he hissed. His secretary was sitting just outside, and he didn't want to be overheard. "Now you want me to rescue you from a promise you never should have made. Well, Johnny I'm going to let you rot like all the rest of those dumb farmers." 

Johnny looked at Q's reflection, then back to his own. Worry had shorn him of his hair long ago. Hard labor had twisted his limbs into tough, ropy vines. He wasn't broken, but he was worn, and he didn't blame Quin for feeling disdain at the image he represented. Indeed, how else should he feel? 

Finally, however, Quin got enough nerve to look into Johnny's eyes. Saw disappointment, but also kindness, steadfastness. A kind of iron determination that made him hold on long after others had the good sense to quit. Saw something else, too. Something he never imagined he'd see again, and it brought him up short. "You still love me, don't you?" 

"I never stopped." 

"Why?" A simple request for information. "The last thing I ever said to you was that I hated you." 

Picard shrugged. "I knew you didn't mean it." He put his hat on, turning away. "Besides, I was the one who let pride get in the way of our...friendship." 

"Johnny, wait." Quin felt so defeated. What idiocy was making him revisit this wounded place yet again? "I should have never let you keep killing yourself for that old man." His voice was breaking again, like it had done twenty years ago. 

"You could not have stopped me." That same pride in his tone. If he had nothing else, he had his integrity. 

"Damnit, Johnny," Quin sounded strained, desperate, but the pleading note in his own voice let him know how important this really was. It had nothing to do with farms and forclosures. "Please don't leave me again." 

"I won't be able to stay here now." 

"If I get on my knees and beg you?" They were whispering again. Nothing would help them if they were caught, and they knew it. That they would dare even this much told them both how important they were to one another. This was life or death. 

Quin heard himself saying stupid things; making promises, making threats, imploring Johnny to come rescue him from his life, and in response Picard finally heard himself agreeing, saying, 'yes, yes, yes,' to everything Quin asked. 

They could not embrace, but they stared at each other, two middle-aged men, seeing past the surface to the boys they'd once been, the love they'd once shared. They started to grin helplessly. 

"We're a pair of fools." Quin accused them both. 

"I was wrong," Johnny answered simply. 

"Just don't leave me." 

"Never again." 

"Eat lunch with me." 

"Soon," he smiled. "Quin." The name was a caress. Johnny was soaring. He had finally broken free from the spell his father cast over him all those years ago. 

"Now," Quin corrected. He was rich and powerful, and when he talked, people listened. He raised his voice. "Matthias?!" 

His underling appeared in the door. "Yes, sir?" 

"I'm taking the afternoon off!" 

"Yes, sir!" 

Quin immediately dismissed the man from his thoughts. He was taking Johnny to the haberdashery where he would buy him a wardrobe worthy of a rich man's... confidant. He had so many things to tell his friend: His daughters were vapid like their mother. He was thinking of running for mayor. He owned a country house to which he and Johnny could escape whenever they wanted to go plan his campaign strategy. The world was perfect. Somewhere, twenty years of heartache loomed out of his memories and tried to make him feel bitter, but he ignored them. Life was too good to waste on pain. 

End


End file.
